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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24690343">Black As Tar</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/KinkMom/pseuds/KinkMom'>KinkMom</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Homestuck</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>F/M, Incest, Kanaya is only a phonecall, The Homestuck Epilogues: Meat, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, body horror-ish at times, dubcon, mind control?, very heavy sexual tension</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-06-13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 08:21:24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,197</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24690343</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/KinkMom/pseuds/KinkMom</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Rose meets up with Dirk to talk about her condition. She gets the meat.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Rose Lalonde/Dirk Strider</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>49</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Black As Tar</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>If anything the epilogues really gave fuel for creepy DirkRose. Their interactions were literally the only part I enjoyed.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>"Let me take a look," he says.</p>
<p>You freeze.</p>
<p>You should never let anyone get behind you. But you know Dirk, you've known him for years. </p>
<p>You and him, you're disturbingly similar, much more so than you and Dave are and he's your goddamn brother, Roxy shows up in him much more than in you. But what can you expect, being Dirk's genetic offspring? Somebody had to inherit his traits too. The same wit, the same intensity, the same pride. The same cold, calculating eyes, the same ghost of a smile, the same platinum shade of hair, almost iridescent when light hits it right. The flip-side of the coin. He is exactly like you and that's why you know you should never let him get where you can't see him.</p>
<p>His hands rest heavy on your shoulders, anchoring you into place. Not that you have any intention of moving, you don't blink first and your condition has you rather phlegmatic. So you let him, his exhale hot against the back of your neck and warm, dry palms sliding against your protruding collarbones and pushing the cardigan off your bony shoulders.</p>
<p>"You don't look too good," he notes right away.<br/>
<br/>
"Oh that's just what a lady wants to hear while you're undressing her," you retort back dryly, folding your hands in front of your body so your cardigan won't drop onto the dusty floor as you have no idea how often he cleans in his workshop, if ever. Lavender grey doesn't take to stains too well. </p>
<p>You can picture the way he lifts his brows when he answers, feigning surprise. You know he knows the steps to this dance by heart. "You're well on your way to making this weird. Halfway, I'd say. Give your horses a few good spanks, get em cheeks nice and rosy, and you'll go flying through the town with all of our dirty laundry. Then everyone and their nosy aunts will know what sort of family we are. Flip up some dresses while you're at it and hope your carriage holds, cause those wheels don't stop turnin'."</p>
<p>"Ah, there it is. My visit wouldn't have been complete without at least one extended metaphor with horses and a common bdsm practice peppered in. This is why you're not my first pick when I'm in need of medical attention, even though this matter is more spiritual than anything."</p>
<p>His thumb traces the back of your neck and down your upper back, only as far as your dress reveals skin, which is in fact quite low cut.</p>
<p>"I'm no priest but it doesn't take a doctor to tell you don't look healthy. I mean, I could probably count the vertebrae in your entire spine," he continues and grabs you by your rib cage, just below your breasts, "and same with your ribs, you'd honestly make a great bone percussion instrument at this rate." </p>
<p>A flash of something hot in your chest is enough to restrict your breath and make your head throb again. Maybe it's being chewed out over something way outside of your grasp and control, maybe it's his thumbs sitting in the crease of your armpits and his fingers tracing your sternum.</p>
<p>"I didn't come here to be compared to a xylophone, Dirk. I know I've become frail. You really should be nicer to your sick daughter." You sigh, indifferent to his touch. Or so you would like to believe, snuffing out that tiniest flutter of your heart while you count the freckles on his knuckles.</p>
<p>He withdraws his hands but there's not much time to be relieved, they dive under your hanging cardigan and hold onto your waist instead. You don't look down but you know his fingertips are almost touching and the alarmingly loose fabric bunches under his palms.</p>
<p>"Shit, Lalonde, you really should have come here earlier."</p>
<p>"You never told me to."</p>
<p>"If you would have followed your visions you would have known that I can help you."</p>
<p>"There's too many and I'm tired of them. You should know that I don't 'do' this..asking for help <em>thing</em>."</p>
<p>During your exchange his hands trace your hip bones, coming to rest in a firm hold on your hips. You don't shift in discomfort and you don't ask him what he's doing. You know what he's doing.</p>
<p>"I know," he says, tone softer, almost apologetic. His breathing doesn't sound any faster, or affected in any way by his actions. That is somehow more unnerving than his hands seeking out your wrists, squeezing them lightly, caressing with the sort of tenderness you wouldn't expect from a callous man like him. You find yourself terrified to feel two of his fingers pressing down on your pulse point on either side, betraying your hammering heart. You swallow, trying not to jerk yourself away.</p>
<p>"I don't think you give yourself enough credit. You have theories. The things you see can be unsavory but they're true, you know more than you let on. You know that you're ascending, you know why you feel like this, what you're becoming and what you must do to stop it." He pauses for a moment. "...I think you've been just stalling all this time." </p>
<p>Dirk's hands slide up your arms, through the sleeves his touch is still bearable but skin-on-skin it almost burns. They come to rest on your shoulders again and he pulls your back flush against his broad chest, gently. You feel so tiny and vulnerable and wonder if it really was the right choice to come here. You're a fool blinded by the overwhelming craving for solid answers, you wanted to have someone to tell you what to ignore and what to focus on, what is relevant and true and essential, tell you when will the pain <em>stop</em>, anything to lighten your load. Dirk will make you work for those answers.</p>
<p>"Should have known you can't give a straight answer to anything if your life depended on it. Things would be way too easy without a good old fashioned layer of bullshit, now wouldn't they? I'd be better off thinking this through all by myself." You scoff, accompanied by a bitter bark of a laughter. The dusk outside bleeds its orange rays into the purple of the darkening sky, dragging them both slowly beneath the horizon. Your legs feel weak and your heel scrapes against the concrete when your ankle involuntarily twists. Another wave of nausea hits you but Dirk's got you. In fact, he's leaning in so much closer now, lips ghosting against your ear and voice much lower and quiet than before.</p>
<p>"Then why did you come here now? It's not like you didn't know what I'm after. Do you shut out the visions that stubbornly, or did you just want to really <em>see what happens?</em>"</p>
<p>You guess you did. </p>
<p>You have no idea where the sudden surge of energy came from, you even managed to pull yourself together enough to look presentable. You can't blame him for getting the wrong idea with your form fitting dark purple dress, ending modestly just below your knees but revealing much of your upper back instead, pumps way too high for someone as withered and wasted as you but reasonable for someone who can fly, stay-up stockings of which he isn't even aware of yet (or is he?), carefully done make-up to cover up your sickly pallor and glossy, black lipstick just begging to be smeared and left behind in tar-like kiss marks. You look like you're going on a date. </p>
<p>And that was your intention, wasn't it?</p>
<p>"I... don't know what you're talking about. Sorry." Sweat pearls into the dip above your cupid's bow.</p>
<p>"Ah, the avoidance waltz. You just never trip up in your steps, do you? I wonder how you and Dave ever made it..." Dirk's voice is barely a mumble while he fiddles with your earring, a black, plastic sun.</p>
<p>"Dave and I didn't do anything. And I'm married now." You snap, almost offended at his suggestion. It's a thing that has been long gone and buried already. Your heart stings with lost potential and sometimes seeing the could-have-beens doesn't help the feeling.</p>
<p>"What, really?" He sounds actually surprised for once but you can never really know. "You two are so ridiculously up in each others' grills that the chances of sausages rolling into places they damn right please is near inevitable. What a shame though, bro really doesn't know how to initiate shit. Gotta show him a thing or two... Say, let's get some Strider in you then."</p>
<p>A shiver runs down your spine, the walls are closing in. "There's plenty of Strider in me already, any more and I'd be officially insuff-" His lips close over the soft, almost see-through skin of your neck, violently, and your head falls back on his shoulder, his fingers closing over your throat, arm squeezing around your waist, pulling you into him tighter and tighter and you gasp and scramble to take hold of him, failing and realizing you're trapped by the cardigan bunched down to your elbows. You may have an edge when it's just words but the second it gets physical you know you've lost.</p>
<p>And the sound that leaves your dry throat is nothing but a hoarse moan and the second it does, you wish you'd die on the spot. You hear him grunt, a choked, vehement sound, a rough hand clutching you closer to his body, clawing at your dress. You can barely stand, but you know you could take one brisk step back and your heel would crush his sneaker-clad toes. You don't.</p>
<p>Instead, you give in. Every dance has to come to an end, it's the final pose. The curtain is about to fall while your bodies intertwine into something grim and grotesque. You're two black holes circling each other, it is destined for you to collide, to go out in a bang. As you must begin from him, he must end in you. It is simply how it is. That's what you tell yourself when you twist your neck and breathe out the most indecent sounds and smear black on his cheek, uneven shave pricking your lips while his hand fumbles to your padded breast and the other lays flat against your abdomen, fingertips digging into the fabric.</p>
<p>Dirk tilts his face towards you, feverishly pressing his lips to yours and it's almost disturbing how well you fit together. You let your head loll back, supported on his strong frame, and reaching your hand up to touch the solid forearms cradling you you're not sure if you're either safe or trapped. Neither matters, you decide and let your eyelids fall and breathe in his shuddering breath.</p>
<p>You shuffle the cardigan off of your arms, letting it fall to the floor and reach back to nudge at him. He takes the hint and pulls back with a gasp and a tar black smear on his lips and you breathe in greedily, too. Dirk is quick to pull your zipper down, splitting your dress open and marveling at the unmarred expanse of your back. You shrug, letting it pool to your feet as well, the sleek inside sliding easily against your skin, as clammy as it is.</p>
<p>His hands are on your waist, on your chest, pulling you back against him and despite his hurried demeanor his hands are gentle on your breasts. Squeezing, lifting, pushing. You almost expect a snarky remark about not wearing any bra, but you figure that his capacity for such verbal finesse is limited at the moment. Now his breathing is ragged, right against the side of your face and you can hear every shudder and hitch. He keeps his composure admirably well until it all comes crashing down. You swear he has wanted this from the second he laid his eyes on you, which is to say, for years. Something well-guarded, a deep, dark secret. That's definitely your type.</p>
<p>You try, but he doesn't let you turn towards him, and you wonder, since he's not wearing his shades, <em>which way is it?</em> Is he afraid of showing his eyes to you, all the raw, intense emotion he shows to nobody, or seeing yours, the way you'd pull him apart with one glance, make him doubt, regret and want all the more?</p>
<p>His fingers drag black lines down your torso, all the way to the edge of your panties. You feel hot and your pores sting and your nose is drip drip dripping, the viscous black hitting your bare chest. Your head spins and you're suddenly glad about Dirk being there, his arm firm around your waist.</p>
<p>Not for long though, dread overpowers everything when his fingers press down in between your legs and an electric shock shoots through your spine. Your knees buckle and you lurch forward, heaving and dangling in Dirk's grip. <em>It's been so long</em>. The sensation aches to your very core, sweetly right in between pain and pleasure and you hold onto his arm, nails digging into his flesh. His sharp intake of breath, which you interpret as pained, pleases you to no end. It's something to take solace in when his finger kneads higher and higher notes out of you while you uselessly try to clench your teeth.</p>
<p>The black spreads down your stomach, oozing and dripping and clinging to your lower lip. It washes over his arm, a tar black coating with an iridescent sheen like an oil slick, and clumps the fine hairs together into repeating waves. Dirk doesn't seem to even notice. He hastily pulls your panties down and you try to fidget your thighs together but without much success. Shame burns your face when his finger slips between your folds way too easily. You're coming undone far quicker than you'd like.</p>
<p>You reach back, hooking your arm around his neck to keep your wavering balance and pray that he can keep his. Something between a sigh and a gasp leaves Dirk's lips when he pushes his finger inside, while you squeeze down so hard it's like you're trying to bite it clean off. You know what he'd want to say, whisper it in your ear with a husky, victorious tone but you're glad he doesn't. You won't say anything either, the slick sounds are enough and you bashfully turn your gaze to the side, focusing on the blueprints on the wall instead.</p>
<p>It's only a blink before you find yourself bent over his workbench, anything immediately in the way swept aside without care and Dirk's weight on your back pinning you securely down. You're sure you couldn't get away like this, even if you really wanted to. Your knees shuffle closer together.</p>
<p>You crane your neck a bit to find a more comfortable position for your head but freeze, taken aback by your reflection on the polished chrome casing of his project across the table. Wide, glassy eyes staring right back at you, mascara running dark streaks down your cheeks. You can barely make out Dirk's face above you, the reflection is too cloudy to see the fine details, but it's enough for you. He's fixated on your back and clearly enjoying what he's getting. There's one place where the Strider stoicism doesn't extend and that's comforting.</p>
<p>His belt buckle presses uncomfortably against you and you shift before you realize that he's wearing track pants. Your face flushes, hot and tingly, mouth falling open with a timid gasp.</p>
<p>Dirk is surprisingly quick to get his dick out and the feel of it against your bare skin is maddening. You hear him grunt your name, the ringing in your ears relenting just enough to catch it. He has been talking to you this whole time, hasn't he?</p>
<p>The blunt tip pressing against you has you reeling on your tippy toes and tighter against the workbench. You briefly wonder how big he is exactly before strong hands grip your hips and pull you back against him and you become one.</p>
<p>The sound that leaves your throat is less pained than you think it is. He takes you rough and deep, driving you against the table. How dare he? Nobody has treated you this carelessly since you fell ill, and in a way, you miss that. Kanaya. All those silken touches, like the lightest pressure would make you fall apart, careful, cautious. If anything it made you feel more frail than you actually are.</p>
<p>The feeling is bitter in your chest, like a tentacle squirming and constricting your insides, thorns protruding through its slick surface and squeezing and puncturing your squishy, little organs until you aren't breathing any more. In a way this is liberating. You're alive, you're breathing and you have a voice. And you scream out, pitch high and choppy with his thrusts.</p>
<p>You barely hear the familiar jingle but Dirk does and slows down. You follow his hand reaching out into your purse, haphazardly knocked over on the edge of the table. Your phone, someone is calling. You don't even think of wrenching it from his hands. Instead you just slump against the desk and let him do what he thinks is the best.</p>
<p>"Hm, you again? I thought I told you we're busy, Rose can't talk right now." Dirk answers with a sigh, then listens for a while the faint and fast but clearly enunciated speech on the other end.</p>
<p>"You know, you couldn't call her for a reason. It's really rude to try and circumvent that with someone else's phone."</p>
<p>You wonder how his voice stays so level. Considering that he's not going soft inside you, quite the opposite, he must find this quite exciting. And you do too, in a way, even though you barely dare to breathe. Your face feels hot and a lump forms in your throat, if she could see the black smudges on Dirk's face or you right now... You'd die right on the spot.</p>
<p>The speech is getting more frantic. Dirk shifts his weight from one leg to another. You can practically hear him rolling his eyes. Then he clutches your hip and presses himself tighter against you, the tip of his cock grinding against your cervix. You clench your teeth and refuse to make a sound. It would be so easy for him to ruin you. But he's merciful.</p>
<p>"Don't call again, this is family business. I need to go now." A clipped yell from the other end as he cuts the call. He puts the phone on silent and shoves it further on the table. "Now where were we..."</p>
<p>Everything is hazy through the pleasure. You're on your stomach. You're on your back. Your legs are wrapped around Dirk's waist and your hands are clutched in his hair. Your shoes are missing. Your stockings are torn. You bite him. Your gums bleed black. Your kisses bleed black. Your tongue reaches for his and you meld together. You're sick. You're evil. You're on his couch. You're in his bed. You're full of him and you want more.</p>
<p>Dirk will save you from yourself.</p>
<p>
    <span class="dirk">And you love him, you really do.</span>
  </p>
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